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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251335">There Is Nothing Can Console Me</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heroine_of_Albion/pseuds/Heroine_of_Albion'>Heroine_of_Albion</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fable (Video Games), Fable 2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>And it's broken, Angst, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Reaver Has A Heart, Set After Sparrow's Death, This One's Sad Folks</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 11:40:56</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,092</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29251335</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heroine_of_Albion/pseuds/Heroine_of_Albion</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the common belief in Albion that the cruellest monsters were the Banshees that haunted Wraithmarsh...but Reaver knows better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Hero of Bowerstone/Reaver (Fable) (Past/Implied)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>There Is Nothing Can Console Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>If anyone wants to know what Reaver is hearing during this story, check out <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPLodwT58nE">Ashley Serena's version of 'My Jolly Sailor Bold'</a>. It's exactly what I imagined for the sirens singing.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was the common belief in Albion that the cruellest monsters were the Banshees that haunted Wraithmarsh.</p><p> </p><p>It was a reasonable enough belief; the Banshees had an unerring and rather unpleasant ability to weasel out a man's darkest fear and whisper them in his ear, but if one knew the slightest thing about Banshees, one would know that they were the souls of women who had met their deaths through the greed and other various unkindnesses of others, having been treated very badly. They weren't cruel: they were afraid, and their fear was a twisted, dark thing that drove them to lash out, to harm before they were harmed. To be cruel.</p><p> </p><p>Reaver...empathised. Or he came as close to empathising as he possibly could.</p><p> </p><p>He wasn't sure it truly counted as empathy when part of his indifferent disposition to them was because they were easily enough dispatched, once one got ride of their shadowy offspring, at least for him. In any case, he'd stopped fearing the cruelty of Banshees by the end of his first decade travelling into the sickly marshes that had once been his home, had stopped even paying them any mind by the end of his first century, unless he was actually in front of one.</p><p> </p><p>No, he didn't care at all about the Banshees and their frightened cruelty...especially not when he knew the truth about what were truly the cruellest creatures in all of Albion - maybe even all the known lands.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p><em>Sirens</em>.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Sirens were, without the doubt, the most vile creatures in Albion...and unfortunately they were all too common in Bloodstone: drawn to the port by the sounds of the drunken mass of humanity, the stench of fish, and the taste of blood in the water. Reaver had long since put in place measures to make Bloodstone's docks...unpleasant for Sirens, but that didn't keep all of the vile bitches out. Every now and again, once in a while, one or two of them would get into the docks, and start singing one of their stomach-turning songs.</p><p> </p><p>It seemed that tonight was one of those nights.</p><p> </p><p>Almost a dozen men and women had already dived into the murky water, lured in by the promises of their deepest desires. Reaver honestly couldn't care less for the loss - those people were hardly important: interchangeable and unremarkable to the end - but when the song had reached his ears...he'd started to care. Because in spite of his inarguable superiority to any living being in Albion, he was not immune to the Sirens' call.</p><p> </p><p>Like Banshees, Sirens had a way of seeing into people's hearts: but instead of seeing their fears, they saw <em>desires</em>. Not the easily attainable kind of desires, of course, the kind that one would never really hope to ever live...or live again.</p><p> </p><p>Which was why Reaver was sitting in a dark room, a bottle of the strongest brandy money could buy in one hand, and his head in the other, trying to tune out the Siren's song...and failing.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>"...from Brightwood Tower to Bloodstone, I'll wander, weep and moan...all for my jolly sailor, until he sails home..."</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Reaver gritted his teeth, knowing that despite what his ears were hearing, She wasn't out there.</p><p> </p><p>It might be a good imitation - <em>it was: he'd give the gilled bitches that much</em> - might make his heart pound and his stomach clench, but it wasn't Her voice. It wasn't Her.</p><p> </p><p>She was long gone.</p><p> </p><p>Gone. Lost. Dead.</p><p> </p><p>There was no power on earth that would allow him to see or hear her again - Reaver knew; he'd looked. He'd looked and looked and looked, poured over all the ancient texts he could get his hands on, offered bargains to the Shadow Court <em>(he'd been willing to see all of Albion burn this time, though it had done him no good)</em>, even attempted to sail out the blind seeress in her precious Spire, though she'd forced him away before he ever got close...but despite all his best efforts, it had all been in vain.</p><p> </p><p>Sparrow was dead. And she would remain that way: whether he could hear the mournful strains of her voice in the Sirens' song or not.</p><p> </p><p>Of course...that didn't make it any easier to tolerate...</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>"...my heart is pierced by Cupid...I disdain all glittering gold...there is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold..."</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The heart in Reaver's chest, an organ he'd long thought useless, shuddered and clenched, and the hand holding his head dropped to clutch his chest.</p><p> </p><p>Hearing Sparrow's voice, but knowing that it wasn't really Her, <em>hurt</em>. Hurt in ways Reaver hadn't known he was capable of feeling anymore.</p><p> </p><p>Part of him wanted to curse Her: wanted to rage and storm and scream at Sparrow for opening this wound in his chest...but what good what that do him? Cursing her name would not bring her back to him, and as much as he wanted to despise her for causing him this pain, the hatred was fleeting, swiftly buried by bittersweet love and longing for what could never be.</p><p> </p><p>So he despised the Sirens instead.</p><p> </p><p>The Sirens were the cause of his pain. The Sirens were the reason he was locked in a dark room, hiding. The Sirens were to blame for his current predicament. They taunted him with desires he kept hidden from everyone, desires that could never be realised. They mocked the horrible aching in his chest, and laughed at his misery. They stole his Sparrow's voice, and tarnished it with their lies and dark intentions.</p><p> </p><p>The cruellest monsters in all of Albion indeed. The Banshees had nothing on them.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>
  <strong>
    <em>"...there is nothing can console me..."</em>
  </strong>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>There <em>was</em> nothing that could console Reaver: nothing that would give him what he truly wanted...so he'd settle for slaughtering that fucking Siren in the docks. Then he'd track down her sisters, and hang them from the top of the lighthouse, as a warning to any of the bitches that got to close, that he was not to be trifled with. After that...Reaver was done with Bloodstone. There was nothing here for him but ghosts - and not just in the marshes.</p><p> </p><p>He'd heard the lake that fed into the River Bower was in a rather pleasant location. Of course, he'd have to make a few changes...but if he didn't, certainly someone else would, and they would never manage to do it as well as Reaver could.</p><p> </p><p>Albion was rapidly changing, it seemed.</p><p> </p><p>Reaver intended to change with it.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <em>A.K.A.: the fic where I explore a possible reason for why Reaver left Bloodstone and gave up piracy.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>I really liked this idea, and it was heavily inspired by some mournful sounding songs about sirens - especially <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tPLodwT58nE">Ashley Serena's version of My Jolly Sailor Bold</a> - but I'd really like to know what other people think about it, so if you have an any thoughts <em>(especially if you have a different idea about why Reaver became an industrialist and ended up in Millfields/Bower Lake)</em> then please leave a comment below and let me know!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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